They spent the next few hours playing like fledglings, allowing the tension of the last several weeks to simply melt away. They spent the first little bit, chasing and darting in a convoluted game of tag. Alyssa was faster than he was, but Rowan's larger wingspan gave him more power, which allowed him to close the distance that she'd created.
Then they'd taken turns showing off increasingly difficult tricks, teasing back and forth as they flew. Alyssa noted that Rowan was taking the opportunity to display his wings as much as he could, stretching them out to their full length or angling them in different ways so that the different colors in his wings shone brightly in the sun. She admitted, if only in the privacy of her mind, that the bronze, rust, and gold that shimmered in the sun were dazzling. Not only that, but his control was magnificent. She could turn tighter and fly faster, but the sheer strength of his flight was breathtaking.
She had been tempted to preen and display a little bit as well but held back. Right now wasn't the time. Yes, they were getting along well, which was a plus. She didn't want to be at odds with her mate, wanted to build a strong and lasting relationship like her parents had. But she wanted to see that he was invested in pursuing a relationship, in pursuing and learning about her. Yes, the displaying was attractive, her mate was very attractive, but she wanted to have a relationship of substance. It didn't help that they still hadn't discussed the duchess, at all. The uncertainty gnawed at her, although she did her best not to think about it. Still, it was one thing that she wanted to clear up before they went much further with this courtship.
Eventually, they'd worn themselves out and had settled down to a more sedate flight. They lazily flew, using the warm air currents to glide effortlessly through the air. Silence had settled around them, comfortable and warm. To her surprise, Rowan was the one to break it, his expression relaxed and content. "Do you fly a lot, in Anaria? You have better speed and control than half of the royal guard."
Pleased with the compliment, she shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she answered. "Yes, flight is a daily part of Anaria, we all spend time in flight. Usually never less than an hour and sometimes we spend the whole day on the wing. Some parts of Anaria are remote and it's easier just to fly there rather than trying to carve a road through the inhospitable terrain. There's also patrolling for raiders or pirates as well as just welfare checks on our people. I don't think that there's ever been a day in Anaria that I haven't flown."
Curiosity sparked in his eyes and he used a thermal to slip slightly closer to her. "What's the difference between raiders and pirates?"
This was something that her father and brother had spent a lot of time debating. "Technically, pirates attack from the sea while raiders are land-based. However, we've been struggling to define them accurately. Claude and I believe that pirates should refer to those who only want to pillage and plunder, causing harm. Raiders, on the other hand, should be used for those who are simply trying to survive and feed themselves and their families. A bad choice, yes, but one born of desperation, like the Sanduin bandits who have been driven off their land by drought. But those who only seek pain and suffering, they deserve the most vile of titles, but apparently 'leeches' and 'soul-sucking vermin' don't look good on official reports. We mostly just call them scum."
He looked thoughtful at that. "Kiran would probably agree about the paperwork thing, he nitpicks half of my reports about language. Still, things should be accurate for the best possible clarity. Do you have pirates and raiders often?"
She shrugged, tilting her hand back and forth. "We live on the coast, not that far from a chain of islands that is used quite frequently by smugglers and thieves. It takes a kind of brash carelessness or desperation to go there, the rocks around the islands and unpredictable winds making them very hard to reach safely. There are so many wrecked ships scattered around them that they're nicknamed the ship graveyards. But even then, we only get hit two or three times a year by anything larger than a single ship, maybe once a year by anything larger than five ships at the most. We have warriors stationed at every town on a rotating roster, so those small fry are easy to handle with minimal to no casualties."
She sighed. "On the other hand, the raiders are a much more complex problem. Unless it's a bad year, with drought or some other sort of natural disaster, we rarely deal with raiders. Occasionally the overly brash youth or someone who has been alone too long and snapped from the isolation, which again, is dealt with swiftly by the local garrison. But there are years..."
She glanced over at him, trying to calculate how much she could safely say. "What is the royal family's stance on Altira?"
He thought it over carefully before answering. "We have neither import nor export treaties with them. We do have a mutual non-aggression pact, although that might have to be revisited if the current Eastern Shah keeps making such an aggressive bid for the throne. We have a careful watch on the situation at the moment, but would prefer not to move until the situation becomes clear one way or the other."
She picked her words carefully, "In Anaria, being so close to the border, we know more than the capital probably does. Little situations, the kind that gets buried in reports because they were resolved successfully or were so small in scale as to cost more to investigate than to just accept the report and move on. Borders can always be interesting places, sometimes a no-man's-land, sometimes a bustling center of trade. The nomads of Altira have always been heavily clan-oriented and will skirmish with each other, over things that are foreign to outsiders. These, skirmishes, have ebbed and flowed for as long as the nomads have wandered the plains. In my lifetime alone, I have known of three heavy raiding years where cousin-kin, those related to the clan but not by blood, have fled the plains for safety. I can think of seven years where there have been summers of continuous small raids upon our farms and granaries trying to build up enough supplies to either withstand a raid or to carry out one upon a rival clan. This is just the way things are."
His flight had changed from lazy to alert, focused on her words. "What are you not saying?"
"You mentioned the Eastern Shah. If you have studied history, you'll notice that rarely more than three clans will ever enter into an alliance. They have what can loosely be called a leader, the Shah, and that is only by necessity. The Shah has always been of the It-Het clan and they are responsible for overseeing the winter quarters, the only true neutral zone in the whole of Altira. It's where they winter during the two months of deepest winter when to wander would spell certain death. But five years ago, the whispers started. A man, a warrior they say, had a vision of uniting all the nomads under one banner, making them one of the strongest peoples under the sun. They laughed it off, for the man was one of the Ei-Hyi, one of the poorest of nomad clans that haunted the borderlands. No one took it seriously within or without Altira's borders, because there have been men who have dreamed of uniting them under one banner before and none lasted through their first raiding season of summer."
Rowan said grimly, "I'm guessing he survived?"
She nodded, "He had three clans under his banner by the end of raiding season, another two joined him after winter quarters. He now has twenty-seven clans under his banner with more being swayed to his cause with every passing month. Smaller clans that do not wish to join his cause are getting more desperate and there are a few hushed whispers, in quiet inns where there is little chance to be overheard and deemed traitors, of fleeing the plains altogether. For not only has he brought twenty-seven clans under his banner, but there were five that opposed him."
He remembered a vague report of inner turmoil in Altira but their spies had been unable to get any concrete evidence, the nomads and cousin-kin keeping their lips tightly sealed, strain clear on their features every time someone asked about the Eastern Shah. Dread pooled in his gut as he asked the question that he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to. "What happened to the clans that opposed him?"
She paled, sucking in a shaky breath. "He removed them from the plains. Every man, woman, and child. He made it so that the earth no longer knows them and the winds will no longer sing their names. There are reports, but I don't wish to speak about them. But now, there are many that fear to oppose him."
He moved closer, brushing the tip of his wing over hers reassuringly. She gave him a tiny smile but the tension around her eyes eased slightly. Pulling back just far enough so that their wings wouldn't tangle but close enough to offer implicit protection, he asked quietly, "Why are you telling me this?"
She inched fractionally closer, almost reaching for his hand before stopping herself. "Because, during your visit, you might get the chance to see the raider versus pirate debate for yourself. It's better that you're forewarned. Knowledge is power and all that."
She shook herself abruptly, pausing and hovering for several moments. "Goodness, that became heavier than I intended. Come, the sun is still shining and the sky is blue, today is a good day. Last one to the carriages has to groom the horses." With a small smile, she shot off down the road where the carriages had disappeared long before.
He took off after her as he filed away the new information he'd learned to think over later, not bothering to tell her that neither one of them would probably be permitted near the horses. If Lyssa needed a distraction from heavy thoughts, he'd do his best. His lady should always be smiling, after all.
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